


Station Haven

by Guy_Fleegman



Category: Parasite - Darcy Coates
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Continuation, Friendship, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Monsters, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Science Fiction, a fic where all the survivors meet and team up, what the final chapter should have been
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 08:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26848555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guy_Fleegman/pseuds/Guy_Fleegman
Summary: The survivors of stations 333, 334, and 335 end up at the same station. The Cymics continue to attack and wipe out stations, working their way closer to the highly populated planets. Station Haven seems the perfect refuge, filled with other survivors and training for fighting Cymics as well as studies into best defenses against the Cymics, but it has its own threats inside its walls.A continuation of the book Parasite by Darcy Coates.
Relationships: Kala Holcroft/Vivian Megennie, Maren (Parasite)/Saul (Parasite)
Kudos: 4





	1. Kala and Vivian

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any of these characters or the world this is set in. I am writing this for fun because I enjoyed the book and would have liked to see the surviving characters meet and interact.

Kala didn’t sleep alone anymore. She couldn’t, not when every time she closed her eyes, she felt something looming over her. Something black and alien with Stanos’s drained, lifeless body lolling on top of it. Before, his smile had warmed her chest—told her she’d done a good job—but when she imagined it now, it made her shudder and rush to the bathroom. Vivian would rub small circles on her back as Kala clung to the toilet.

Vivian, a name Kala had never associated with comfort and warmth. Vivian, who now slept next to Kala every night. Wrapped her arms around her and protected her from the dark and its inhabitants. Vivian, a knight in slightly torn armor.

In the pilot’s chair, Vivian flicked green switches and pushed red buttons. And just when Kala thought she understood, Vivian flicked a red switch and pressed a green button.

“Preparing to dock with the  _ Eclipse _ ,” Vivian said, motioning for Kala to have a seat. Kala buckled in and clenched her fingers around the arm rest. “Docking in three…two…one…”

The  _ Delta Shock _ quaked and groaned, and Kala shot a glance at Vivian. Her brow furrowed so deep Kala thought the lines in her friend’s face would become permanent. Lines of concern between the brow, frown lines around the mouth, lines edging the eyes in a squint.

“What if they’re…” Kala started the thought, but didn’t finish. 

It hung in the air.

“Then I’ll just have to save your ass again.”

The captain and the first officers of the  _ Eclipse _ greeted them with smiles. Kala reached for a handshake, but Vivian slapped her hand down. Right, Kala thought.

“You got a knife?” Vivian asked.

“Excuse me?” the captain asked.

Not repeating herself, she reached into her back pocket and tossed them a closed blade. The captain caught it against his chest, staring at it for a second before looking back to Vivian and Kala.

“To see if you bleed black,” Vivian said, nodding to the blade. “If you’d be so kind. If not, we’ll get back on our ship and be on our merry way.”

The first officer leaned to the captain and whispered into his ear. His lips pressed into a firm line and he nodded.

“Alright, but you have to do the same.”

With that, he flicked the blade open and pressed it into the palm of his hand. His palm cupped around the wound and Kala had to step closer to see the color flooding his hand. Red. The first officer did the same with the same result.

“Your turn.” He handed the blade back to Vivian. 

Spying from over her shoulder, Kala’s heart stuttered and stopped as she watched. Please, she thought, tell me I didn’t doom myself and this crew with my nativity. Up until this moment, Kala had freely turned her back to Vivian. Hell, they slept in the same bed. But, for the first time since their escape from station 333, Kala wondered if a monster wearing Vivian’s skin had been playing the long con.

Vivian, after hovering the blade over different parts of her hand, settled on her index finger. She pricked it. A dot of red bloomed. Kala breathed again.

Kala grabbed the knife and sliced a generous tear in her skin. Everyone nodded and Vivian and Kala stepped aboard the  _ Eclipse _ .

“Good to have you, I’m Captain Johnson, this is my first officer Harrington,” the captain said, pulling his sleeve down to press against his bleeding palm. “I’m sorry for us to meet under these circumstances. Miss Holcroft,” he leaned around his first officer and shook Kala’s hand. “We would be happy to debrief you at your earliest convenience.”

She shook back. “Of course. What about Viv—Miss Magennie? Won’t she need to be debriefed as well? She saw a lot more action than I did.”

“Yes,” Captain Johnson said, leading them down identical metal corridors. Kala didn’t know if she’d be able to find her way back to the docking port. “But, being a scientist, and given the information you sent to Central, we believe gathering your knowledge is paramount.”

Kala looked to Vivian. “Is there any way you can debrief us together?”

Captain Johnson, taking another left, nodded. “That would be acceptable.” He pushed a door open and gestured inside. “This will be your temporary quarters, Miss Holcroft, until we get orders on where to take you.”

“Oh, thank you.” They all stepped in.

The room was bare, a single bed and standing lamp the sole furnishings. Kala walked over and pressed down on the bed. It didn’t bend under her hand. Good, she thought, at least my back won’t be as messed up as the rest of me.

Captain Johnson stared at Vivian, who had dropped a bag in the corner, and smiled. “I’m guessing the room we prepared for you, Miss Magennie, won’t be put to use?”

“You got that right, sir.”

“Then I’ll see you two in the dining room at 1900 hours.”

When it was just Kala and Vivian again, they sat together on the bed. Their knees knocked against each other and Kala’s hand found Vivian’s, pulling her pliant fingers open and threading hers between them.

“Are we safe?” Kala asked the room. It was a broad question, but she trusted the answer to not be sugar-coated.

“ _ You _ are.” Vivian stood, pulling Kala up with her. “Now, let’s go find a clock. I have no idea when 1900 hours is.”

When they walked, their hands remained intertwined. Kala, feeling brave, added a small swing to their hand-holding. When Vivian made a hard right, just their pinkies curled together, but neither let go or readjusted the grip.

“Food is in…” Vivian said, nearing a clock in what seemed to be the rec room. “A half hour.”

“Excuse me, sir!” Kala popped back into the corridor and stopped a man. “Where is the dining hall?”

He told her and kept walking.

“So, thirty minutes,” she said, returning to Vivian. “What ever will we do with thirty minutes?”

“Twenty-nine now.”

They went back to their quarters and reemerged five minutes before dinner. Kala, having forgotten the earlier directions, asked another passing man. After he answered, she realized it had been the same man as before. She made Vivian slow her walking pace so they’d stay behind the man who was also heading to the dining hall.

“Care to join us?” Captain Johnson asked, spoon halfway to his mouth, as Vivian and Kala held their trays in the middle of the row of tables. “Unless you’d prefer to sit by yourselves.”

“We can sit here,” Kala said, deciding for both of them. She dropped her tray down and swung her legs over the metal bench. Vivian followed suit.

“How’re you liking being around people again?” Captain Johnson asked, sipping the yellow soup from his spoon. “You were alone for how long? Two weeks?”

“Sixteen days,” Vivian said, picking at her food. “And after what we saw, I’m not sure how I feel about it. Especially considering I don’t know any of you.”

He nodded. “That’s understandable. I was sorry to hear what happened to station 333.”

“Did…” Kala said, and cleared her throat. “Did anyone else make it out? I forgot to ask.” She hadn’t forgotten, she knew. She’d almost asked over radio a dozen times. She’d been afraid. Afraid they were the only ones. Afraid they  _ weren’t _ the only ones.

“Just you, as far as I know.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Vivian squeezed her knee under the table.

Kala made an exaggerated show of yawning and stretching her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I think I’d like to go to sleep for a little bit, if that’s okay.”

Captain Johnson waved his spoon. “Hope you like the bed.”

She returned to the room on wobbly legs. A few passing crew members inclined their heads and the looks in their eyes made Kala squeeze hers shut.

Back in the room, Kala let the shaking take hold of her body. She crouched on the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. Everybody else died. Nobody else left that station. Two people out of… No one else survived. Why her? What did she do to deserve life? Welcome the thing wearing Santos’s skin into the station? Assist it in learning about itself?

“Because you can help,” Vivian said behind her, making Kala jump. “Because you saved me when most people wouldn’t’ve. Because you’re a good person who will keep saving people.”

Vivian rubbed Kala’s back and she unfurled herself.

“Let’s go to bed and not think about anything for a while.”

That was what they did. Kala in Vivian’s arms, neither asleep, but both refusing to move. If Kala ignored the ribbed ceiling, the foreign rumble of the engine, and the too bright lighting, she could convince herself it was just her and Vivian on the  _ Delta Shock _ again.

Then, a knock at the door.

Vivian’s bare feet slapped at the cool floor as she peaked into the corridor. The first officer, Harrington, stood in front of her, hands behind her back.

“The captain wanted you to know we got orders on our destination.”

Vivian raised her eyebrows.

“Station Haven.”

Kala pushed to an elbow and called, “What’s station Haven?”

Leaning to look over Vivian’s shoulder, Harrington said, “A station converted to a refuge for people like you—survivors. We’ll be there in two days.”

After thanking Harrington, Vivian closed the door and padded back to the bed. She curled up close to Kala and buried her head between their pillows.

“Just what we need,” she said, voice muffled. “Another damn station.”


	2. Maren, Gin, and Saul

“It could be seen in the way their elbows bumped during lunch as each chewed on protein packs. The way he always said goodnight, and made conversation so he’d have an excuse to walk her to her bunk. In the way she—”

Maren threw the nearest object—a flashlight—at Gin. “If he hears you doing that, he’ll stop doing that stuff.”

Gin smiled. “Come on, he doesn’t care.”

They sat in the cockpit, legs over the armrests so they faced each other. Gin’s shift at the controls started ten minutes ago. After establishing contact with another ship six days ago, they were told to not return to Central and wait for further instructions. So, they waited.

The front shielded-window gave a panoramic view of space. Darkness sprinkled with white. During Maren’s shifts when Gin and Saul slept, she’d stare at the white dots and each time they twinkled she expected them to go dark and never return. A visual representation for every moon and planet that fell.

They didn’t spend their first night aboard the ship sleeping after station 334. They spent it in the dining room passing a brick of freeze-dried ice cream around. Gin had found it in the kitchenette. She handed it to Maren with a shrug. Maren broke off a piece and put it in her mouth, pressing it between her tongue and the roof of her mouth. The crisp, lightness of it melted and she tasted mint.

Gin snatched it back and broke off a piece and offered it to Saul. He pursed his lips, not leaning forward. She gave him the biggest frown. With a sigh, he took it. Cheers, Gin said, toasting her piece. Saul raised his and Maren raised her hand as if she were holding a glass. 

“Hello? Earth to Maren.”

“Earth,” Maren repeated, raising her eyes to Gin. “What’d you say?”

Gin’s hands flew over buttons as a static-garbled voice came over the comms. Her back settled into that upright position she could sit in for fifteen-hour shifts. Pulling a headset from the wall, she pressed one side to her ear, other hand dashing from one side of the control panel to the other. The sound cut out, rerouting through the headset.

“We’re getting something, but it’s not coming through clearly. Give me a second.”

Maren adjusted herself in the chair, feet back on the deck, and leaned toward Gin. This could be it, she thought, we could be getting out of this tin can and onto actual ground. Anxiety pooled in her stomach as she watched, useless.

“This is  _ Gypsy Flight _ , can you hear me?” Gin said into the mic, teeth worrying her bottom lip. “I repeat, this is  _ Gypsy Flight _ , do you read?”

The anxiety forced its way up Maren’s throat and she swallowed against the burning sensation. Gin was frozen, staring into nothing. Then, she smiled.

“Yes, we read.” She turned to Maren and gave a thumbs up. “We’ve been waiting to hear where we should go. Please tell me this is that call.”

Maren wrung her hands. Their time spent on the ship hadn’t been the worst, but every night after dinner she would sneak off and check the comms for updates. Her hope after their escape from 334 had been that humanity would have won by the time she, Gin, and Saul arrived anywhere, but upon receiving either silence or short answers over comms every night, that hope dwindled. 

“Uh,” Gin glanced at the panel in front of her and shook her head. “One second, our pilot is away.” She covered the mic. “Get Saul.”

The bunks were a corridor and two lefts away. Maren sprinted the path on autopilot. When she turned the final corner, she saw his boots on the lower bunk. He slept with them on. She wondered if he’d done that on the station or if it was a new habit.

Walking on the balls of her feet, she crept closer. He looked asleep, but it could be a ruse. She crouched down beside him and waited. He smelt like the “odorless” soap they used in the showers and his hair was heavy with water. 

“No,” he said.

“Dammit!”

Since their first night on the ship, she’d yet to catch him asleep. It had started as impressive and mutated to annoying. Then, she’d made a promise. I’ll catch you one day, she’d said. He’d nodded and told her to try her best.

“Gin on the comms?” he asked, sitting up. He grabbed his make-shift crutch from against the bunk, and swung to his feet. Medical had been fried so he’d broken a broom and said it would do. Maren was sure he had a colorful mural of bruises under his arm. 

“How’d you know?” She lent a shoulder while he got his balance.

“Hmm.”

The hobble to the cockpit no longer left him shivering and dizzy with pain, but she still didn’t like when he moved from her shoulder and walked on his own. She hovered behind his elbow, ready to catch him, though she wasn’t sure she could stop him toppling.

“They’re going to have to re-break this,” he said, voice tight.

“They are  _ not _ . I did an awesome job.” She looked at the cast cobbled together from reconstruction materials for the ship. “ _ Beautiful _ . That’s a work of art you’re walking on.”

His lips twitched at that. She’d count it as a smile. Having kept a mental log, she marked down another tally. She’d been happy to note the increase of him smiling. Still less than her and Gin and normal people, but she’d take what she got.

Gin twisted in her seat when they walked in.

“They want you to enter coordinates,” she said.

Saul eased into the pilot’s chair and took a breath. His hands didn’t dance the same way Gin’s did, making every press of a button a port de bras, rather they moved precisely. They held the philosophy of the quickest way between two points was a straight line.

“Go,” he said.

Gin unconnected the headset and the voice, intelligible now, read off numbers and words to Saul. He entered the numbers into one screen and adjusted dials on another. Maren didn’t see where the planet and star names went.

“Estimated time of arrival,” Saul said, squinting at a display. “Nine days.”

“We’ll be expecting you. Additional information will be sent shortly.” The voice paused. “Good luck.” The transmission cut out. 

“Well? Where are we going?” Gin asked.

“Station Haven,” Saul said.

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s a suspicious name,” Maren said, dropping her hands onto Saul’s shoulders as she leaned over the back of his chair. “ _ Haven _ . Sounds like they’re trying too hard. Why not…station we-promise-you’ll-be-safe-here?”

“Station no-need-to-worry,” Gin said, relaxing back into her chair. “Station close-your-eyes-and-trust-us.”

They fell into silence for a moment. Under Maren’s palms, Saul’s shoulders were warm and tense. She’d told him he held them too high and he’d replied she did the same. Touché.

“Station don’t-look-under-the-floorboards,” Saul added, causing Gin to laugh.

The stars in front of them slid past the window as the ship adjusted to their new course. Maren wished, not for the first time, that she knew how to navigate in space. She would have liked to mentally note some technical jargon that told her where they were headed instead of just thinking ‘super far to the right’.

She tapped at Saul’s shoulder. He bent his neck back to look at her, mouth opening slightly.

“Can you teach me how to fly?”

“Yes.”

“ _ Really? _ Thank you!” She sent a toothy smile at him and bounced on her toes. “When do we start?”

“Tomorrow.”

He stood and hobbled around the seat, moving past Maren. She resisted the urge to help him. He hadn’t told her he didn’t like it—in fact, he’d always thanked her for her help—but she saw the way his eyes stayed trained on the floor when he had help.

“If either of you need me, I’ll be in the bunks.”

She touched his arm. “You good?”

“Fine.” He pressed his hand over hers before walking down the corridor, the echo of his crutch fading off into the ship.

“I guess that means we can stop with the shifts,” Gin said, rolling her shoulders and looking up at Maren through her hair. “What with auto-pilot on and all.”

“I guess.” Maren sat back down. “You going to bed?”

“Think so. You?”

Maren nodded at the panel. “I’m gonna sit here a while longer.”

Leaning over and hugging Maren, Gin said into her shoulder, “Ok. Have fun.”

“Sleep well.”

“With that one-man-army a bunk away, how could I not?”

Tilting her head back to rest against the seat, Maren watched the stars. The stars made her feel small. Stars and whole planets looked like specks of dust compared to everything, and she was no star. Her musings had changed since station 334—how could they not have. Her hopes had started to shrink and her along with them.

She felt if she didn’t grab onto something, she’d shrink into nothingness. Mentally she grabbed onto Gin and Saul. Probably whispering with their eyes closed from opposite bunks right now. Saul whispered because it was so quiet, he didn’t need to speak any louder. Gin whispered because they were in their bunks and she didn’t want to ruin his ‘sleepiness’. 

Physically Maren reached forward and curled her fingers under the lip of the control panel in front of her. Just hold on, she told herself. 


	3. Arrival

Its previous designation had been scrubbed. No numbers, words, dots, or dashes. The original crew didn’t refer to it as anything other than station Haven. Most refugees didn’t even know what moon they were on or what they orbited. As Maren, Gin, and Saul landed, they looked out the shielded-window at the station.

“Granted, I haven’t seen every station,” Saul said. “But I don’t recognize this place. We’re in a dark zone; Central chose not to build anything here. That’s what they said, anyway.”

“It’s not new?” Gin asked.

“Not if the wear and tear on the shielding is anything to go by,” Maren said. “I’d put it at—and I’m assuming they have the  _ best  _ maintenance workers ever—eight years, at least.”

A large dome with thick tubes branching off in six different directions waited below them. The tubes ended in smaller domes. The outer walls were a dull pink to match the environment, save a blue band that wrapped along the bottom of the tubes. The sight reminded Maren of a tick clinging to its victim—sucking resources from underneath, always a brush away from obliteration. 

A crew came to meet them on the landing site. They knocked at the hatch and Maren and Gin shared a smile over the ridiculousness of knocking on the hull of a ship. The hatch released with a hiss, and voices started.

“ _ Gypsy Flight _ ?” “We’re glad you made it safely.” “You reported one of your crew was injured? Can you direct me to them?” “Can we have your verification code?” “You’ll need to be debriefed as soon as possible.” “Excuse the flamethrowers; they’re a precaution.”

The flamethrowers blared at the forefront of Maren’s mind. Cold muzzles backed by heavily armored hazmat suits. On instinct, her hands had gone up. Gin did the same. Saul leaned against the wall. 

“We’re  _ Gypsy Flight _ ,” Gin said, glancing at Maren and Saul. “Verification code: 22-36-HHJI-654.” She jerked her head toward Saul. “He’s the injured crew member. And I don't remember the other questions."

A hazmat—the only one without a flamethrower—pushed through the others and sidled next to Saul, her mask scanning him up and down. Her gloves picked at the cast on his leg.

“Colby!” One of the crew said. “Follow protocol! Don’t touch anyone until they’re cleared.”

“He’ll need help walking.”

“I don’t give a damn if he  _ crawls _ !  _ Follow protocol! _ ”

Colby, a few inches shorter than Saul, wrapped an arm around his waist and signaled for Maren to do the same. The other hazmat suits parted in front of them as they descended the ramp—flamethrowers trained on each step.

Three hazmat suits broke off and climbed into the ship while the remaining four escorted Maren, Gin, and Saul back to the station. The landing site was one of the outer domes of the station and they followed the tube into a side room.

Colby and Maren deposited Saul onto a bench, and Colby backed up to the edge of the room. The four hazmat suits entered, one stepping forward and pulling a Plexiglass barrier out of the wall and sliding it across the room. The hazmat suits on one side—Maren, Gin, and Saul on the other. The flamethrowers remained aimed at them through the barrier.

The room consisted of blank walls, low benches on either side of the room, a mobile cabinet, and too-bright lights. Maren squinted at the room and hunched forward. The ceiling felt lower than it should have been—she wondered if Saul could stand upright. 

“There are sterilized blades in the drawer to your left. Prick your finger and show us the color of your blood.”

Maren retrieved three of the small metal rectangles. After passing them out like flyers, she pricked her skin, showing the hazmat suits the bead of red perched on her finger. It grew fat in seconds and rolled down her hand. She stuck her finger in her mouth and watched Gin and Saul cut themselves. 

“That to your satisfaction?” she asked around her finger.

“Place your clothes in that—” a glove pointed at a hatch in the corner “—and face the wall.”

Hopping from foot to foot as her feet met the freezing floor, Maren balled up her clothes and yanked the hatch open. A burst of warmth and the smell of burnt paper hit her face. An incinerator. She’d operated one on 334. Never burnt clothes though. 

“What sized uniforms are you?” they asked. 

Maren, Gin, and Saul answered, still facing the wall. Maren’s central vision blanked gray as she saw only the wall with all its scars. The quarantine room they stood in had held some Cymics, she could tell. The room had most likely been scrubbed clean after, but the wall held scratches and dents that no person could have put there. 

In Maren’s peripheral, a hazmat suit carried three folded uniforms in his hands. He placed them on the ground and retreated behind the barricade. 

“You may get dressed now.”

The uniforms were old-school military jumpsuits. The cut hadn’t been used in decades on earth and certainly never made it to space. Saul’s hung loose on his frame, excess fabric stretching to his palms, while Maren’s didn’t reach her wrists. Gin’s fit like a glove.  They paired it with standard white sneakers. 

“There should be uniforms in the next shipment of supplies,” Colby said from the corner. “I can add your names to the list.”

“How many people are before us?” Gin asked. 

“Ninety-four.”

“And how many uniforms per supply drop?” Maren asked. 

“They’re not priority,” one of the hazmat suits replied, stepping forward. His flamethrower swung from his shoulder, fingers tapping at it.  His face shield reflected back a distorted version of the room and Maren looked away from it. “If you’d like to be escorted to medical, follow Colby.”

“Request a wheelchair,” Colby said, moving to the middle of the room. She removed her mask and tucked it under her arm. “ _ Sir _ .”

“Granted.” He turned to Maren, Gin, and Saul. “You’ll debrief at 0700 tomorrow.”

“Right-O, chief.” Gin saluted, clicking the heels of her sneakers together.

The interior of the tubes on 334 had been structured to have rectangle shapes—like hallways in buildings. The ceiling and floor had corners despite outside being a circular shape. Station Haven’s tubes fit their name. Round with a strip of material flattening the floor enough for one person to walk, turning the tubes’ occupants into a single-file train. Maren thought they looked like the arched hallways in museums. 

“Would you like the grand tour,” Colby said, pushing Saul in the requested wheelchair in front, “or info-dump?”

Gin said ‘Grand Tour’ at the same time Saul said ‘Info-dump’. They all looked to Maren as tie-breaker. She sighed. 

“Info-dump now, tour later.”

“Tubes to the outer domes are a quarter of a mile long so, on average, you should plan on giving yourself fifteen minutes to get to the end of one from the main dome. The outer domes are labelled one through six. Bunks are separated into domes three and four—you’ll be in overflow bunking which is dome four. If you get confused, the main dome has a map.”

“Population?” Saul asked as they passed a crewmember. She stepped off the floor and waited on the curved side of the tube, holding one of the grips that fastened to the walls every few feet. 

“One hundred and eighty-one, as of now. We’ll reach capacity in about two months, they say.”

“What—sorry, what will we do?” Gin asked. “ _ Us _ , I mean. I’m a communications officer and they’re defense technicians. Will we be put to use here or sent out to where we’re needed?”

Colby’s grip on the wheelchair loosened. “You can request a transfer once you’ve been debriefed.” She gave Gin a soft smile. “But I’m sure we could use all three of you right here.”

Gin nodded. 

“You two”—Colby motioned between Saul and Maren—“will probably be put into Human Defense Training.” At their quirked eyebrows, she continued. “It’s the new training specifically for identifying and fighting Cymics. Though, having had the run-in you had, I’m sure you’re well ahead in practical experience.”

A run-in, Maren thought. Practical experience. Hearing those phrases used to describe what they saw and endured made her stomach tighten. Run-in felt small, harmless. You had run-ins with ex-partners not creatures that wipe out your crew and wear their faces like Halloween masks. And practical experience sounded like something you’d put on a resum é to impress future-employers. 

“What is this place?” Maren asked, head-on. Gin shot her a look. A few people jogged past, hugging close to the walls. Some dressed in the expected uniform, some in the same antiquated outfits as Maren, Gin, and Saul. Small ribbons, red sometimes, blue sometimes, clung to the collars of their uniforms. The air seemed thinner the more people in the tubes.

“It’s station Haven.”

“But it wasn’t always. It was re-fitted when we started getting attacked. What did it used to be? It’s just, we’re curious—none of us recognize this place.”

“To be honest, I never asked.” 

Sweat broke out on Maren’s forehead as her legs began to burn. After so long sitting around a ship, her muscles must have atrophied. A quick glance showed Gin’s face pinched as she breathed through her open mouth. Saul, obviously, didn’t look bothered by the strenuous walk in the wheelchair. Bothered by other things, for sure, but not the walk. 

A flash of cool, plentiful air blew Maren’s hair back as they entered the main dome. Glancing up, the ceiling towered so high it made her head spin. Goosebumps raised along her arms and she twirled to walk backwards, head still back and eyes on the ceiling. 334 had been large, but hadn’t had the dome structure. Glass windows in the shape of hexagons made up the ceiling, painting the plain floor with magnified hexagons of light. 

Maren  imagined  a ship crashing into the dome and the glass breaking away, but the metal frame standing strong, working like a giant cheese grater on the crashing ship. 

The back of Maren’s neck twinged and she looked back down. Green. Trees and bushes and flowers huddled in a circle in the middle of the dome, making up a small garden. A few benches carved out of stone settled in the grass, the green blades licking at the stone. Maren saw Gin’s eyes light up. 

“May I?” Gin asked Colby, gesturing toward the garden. 

“Of course.”

Pulling the stark white sneakers off, she sprinted to the garden. She curled her toes into the grass. Her shoulders slumped, eyes closing as if she’d fallen asleep standing. Maren smiled at her, the twisting in her gut easing. 

“Can I just stay here forever?” Gin asked, sinking to her knees. She brushed her hands across the grass. 

“I’m sorry,” Colby said. “You’ve got to get a physical exam by one of our doctors before we can show you your bunks.”

“Protocol?” Saul asked, turning his head to the side, but not up at her. 

For the first time since she took her mask off, Maren saw Colby’s lips twitch downward. “I only break protocol when it means I can prevent harm coming to someone. Getting your mandatory physical is the opposite of that.”

“Hmm.” He faced forward again. 

Gin slipped her shoes back on and pushed to her feet, hand sliding across a tree’s bark as she rejoined them. Maren grabbed her hand and gave a squeeze. Bits of wood and dirt poked their palms. 

“Safe,” Maren whispered as Colby continued for medical. 

“Safe,” Gin echoed.


	4. Mitzi and Co.

"So you all can get some  _ actual  _ training instead of learning in the field, which, may I say, is quite stressful for me to watch. Now stop asking stupid questions.”

Adam slumped back onto his bunk and rubbed at his eyes. Beside him, Ellen patted his shoulders. Mitzi used to love pulling the ‘because I said so’ crap, but either due to age or the  amateur  crew now under her command, she felt a tug to explain herself. They’re not fully soldiers yet, she reminded herself. Hopefully, she added with her eyes on Ellen, some of them never truly will be. 

“I don’t doubt your abilities,” Mitzi said. “I’ve seen you in action— _ all _ of you.” She sent pointed looks at Skye, Eion, and Mir on the opposite bunks. “Because our last mission was successful, Central will want to send you in again.” She didn’t voice the possibility of separating them. “Station Haven has a training program focused on fighting Cymics.”

“We’ll probably have more experience than the teacher,” Mir said, inspecting her nails. She scraped a bit dirt from underneath them. 

“Maybe,” Mitzi moved to stand in front of Mir, casting a shadow over her. “But they’ve got scientists. Scientists do research. Research leads to discoveries which help fight these things more effectively. Do I really have to spell this out for you?”

“Could you?” Eion asked. 

Mitzi closed her eyes and counted to ten. Then started over when Mir laughed at Eion’s comment.

Spinning on her heel, she made her way to the front of the ship. Nic sat in the pilot's chair, fingers drumming at a computer, back hunched forward. His spine will stick that way, Mitzi thought, shaking her head. She tapped her knuckles against the wall as she entered. 

“What can I do for you, doll?” he asked, not looking up. 

“Just needed to talk to another adult,” she said. “How’d you know it was me?”

He looked up and feigned surprise. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Screw you.”

Smiling, he hit at the seat beside him. 

“We’re almost there and I’m still having to explain to them why we’re not heading back out there.” She slumped into the seat. “I don’t have control over where we’re sent, but even if I did, I’d want to get them some proper training. Why do they always have to question everything?”

“Adam?” Nic asked, continuing to tap away. 

She shook her head. “I think all of them don’t understand. Maybe Skye does, but she hasn’t really said anything about it. I wish she’d open up more. She has a lot of potential.”

Finally, the tapping stopped and Nic looked at her. “So, tell her that. There’s no use in hiding it from her.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I often am.”

Shaking her head, Mitzi asked, “How long until we arrive?”

“Half an hour.”

“That close? I should get them rounded up and ready to land. Like a bunch of toddlers.”

Nic nodded and turned back to the computer. “I’m glad I’m just the pilot.”

Brushing at her legs, Mitzi stood up and, with a thank you, started down the corridor. The thud of her boots against the deck made her shudder. She tried not to dwell on her fallen team members, but sometimes the memories came to her unbidden.

Franc. 

She stopped walking and waited, yet the thudding of boots on metal continued. They were no longer her boots, but Franc’s. The thudding sped up from a relaxed rhythm to a pounding heartbeat. He ran and, if Mitzi held her breath, she could hear something chased. Her hand flexed wanting the secure weight of a gun.

The steps didn’t fade though. They grew louder and she knew they’d run right into her if she didn’t run too. Instead of heading for her original destination of the crew bunks, she veered right and found the bathroom. She felt stupid doing it, but she flicked the lock on. 

The steps passed and Franc died again. 

Her body had stood strong throughout the unbidden memory. Her legs steady, mind aware, skin dry of sweat. The only thing that gave her away was the flutter of her heart. It didn’t race, rather stuttered in her chest. 

She waited in the bathroom, arms spread like a bird’s wings to either side of the room, palms pressed flat to the walls. Damn it, she thought and slammed her hands against the walls. Damn! She did it again and again. She beat the wall until the thick of her palms burned and throbbed. She didn’t cry or scream or collapse to the ground. She ground her teeth and endured the guilt.

This was the sole reason she ever doubted her desire to return to active-duty. She loved the rush, the meaning it gave her life, the knowledge that she was helping people, but when circumstances turned against her, they didn’t take it easy. It wasn’t her fault logically, but she’d carry Franc’s death with her; adding him to the faces she saw when she closed her eyes of all her fallen team members. 

She allowed herself to feel for a moment—feel with every fiber of her being. The guilt, shame, insecurity, and anything else that wanted to take its swing at her. Memories went along with the feelings, memories she hadn’t known she’d remembered, and she indulged the sick part of her mind saying she deserved this. She deserved to be paralyzed by these feelings. 

“Doll?” Nic knocked on the door and she jumped. “You in there?” He tried the handle. It stuck.

Mitzi cleared her throat. “What is it?”

“We’re here.”

She checked her watch and saw she’d been frozen in the bathroom for thirty-two minutes. Huh, she thought.

“I’ll be out in a moment. Get everyone on the ramp.”

“Aye, commander.”

Stepping in front of the foggy mirror, she scrubbed at her face. Her skin had drained itself of color and she worked it back in. When the face staring at her seemed living again, she left the bathroom. 

Light poured in from the already opened hatch. Dark silhouettes stood just outside the ship in the rectangle of light and Mitzi jogged to them, patting one on the back. She thought it was Mir. It wasn’t. 

“Step back!” the silhouette barked, turning around and shoving her hand off. “Five feet!  _ Five feet! _ ”

Her hands went up and pressed to the base of her skull as she stumbled back. The silhouette advanced on her, weapon—flamethrower—pointed toward her abdomen. As they advanced, she continued to back up until her heel met the wall. Outside the ship, familiar voices started shouting. 

“Calm down, she’s human!” 

“Don’t point that thing at her!”

“Mitzi, just stand still. There’s been a misunderstanding.” That was Skye. 

Mitzi’s focus shifted back inside the ship as the person planted their feet, waiting for orders, Mitzi guessed. They wore an armored hazmat suit and their breath wheezed in front of them. 

“Is there anyone else aboard this ship?” they asked. 

“No.”

“Step onto the ramp.  _ Slowly _ .” They backed up, continuing to face her as she made her way out. 

The landing dome had two landing sites next to each other; another ship sat beside theirs, engines still on, people lugging boxes off it. A man stood, watching the boxes and writing on a pad. As Mitzi walked down the ramp, she watched the boxes too. 

Some were labeled, as expected. Food, medicine, clothes, toiletries. Some had no markings whatsoever. Blank slates placed on a cart. Those seemed to be the ones the man counted. A woman, fingers straining around an unlabeled box, stumbled and dropped it. Mitzi couldn’t hear over the rush of the engines, but the man threw his hands up and his face turned red as he screamed at the woman. 

“This way,” the hazmat suit said to Mitzi and her crew, jerking his flamethrower toward a hatch in the dome. 

They obeyed and followed the instructions. Walk this way, stand on that side of the room, burn your clothes, put these on, Adha will show you to medical for your mandatory exam. 

Mitzi’s crew gawked at the size of the base, straining their necks—save Eion who strained his neck downward. Forcing herself to keep her gaze level, Mitzi took note of all the tubes and extra doors, trying to acquaint herself with the layout as soon as possible. The garden caught her attention only for a moment then her eyes focused on the people behind it with suits marked ‘security’. 

The main dome had a circular area in the middle of it, with the garden at the center, and buildings in between tube entrances where offices and the cafeteria and the rec room were, the inner walls of which were concave to maintain the illusion of a circle inside the dome. Mitzi wondered how many of the buildings she’d be allowed into. 

“Medical is in outer dome 6,” Adha, the woman leading them, said. “If you’d please follow me.”

Mitzi glanced around and saw no numbers indicating which tubes led to which domes. She shrugged, resigning herself to memorizing the exact layout of the station after her medical exam. She spotted a map near the garden. There then, she thought as Adha guided them down the tunnel next to the one they just emerged from. 

Forced to walk single-file, Mitzi wondered why the tubes were so small. With the size of the station as a whole, it wasn’t like price was a factor, so was it a concern of time? She didn’t ask Adha. 

Unlike the landing dome and the main dome, Medical’s ceiling didn’t arch high over them and it didn’t have an open, plain-like set up. Medical was set up like a building with cubicles and exam rooms and surgery centers. Adha left them in seven uncomfortable chairs with the promise they’d be looked at soon. 

“Why do we have to have medical exams?” Ellen asked. She whispered, leaning close to her crew. “They won’t need to like shove needles in our arms, will they? Will they, Mitzi?”

“I don’t know,” Mitzi said. “But it’ll be alright. We’re in a secure place. They’re just trying to clear us and make sure we’re uninjured.”

“Okay.” Ellen didn’t say any more. 

“Can’t believe they made me put my book in that incinerator,” Eion grumbled, messing with the edge of his sleeve. “Was just a book, wasn’t like it could be a Cymic.”

“Told you to leave it on the ship,” Mir said. 

“We’ll get you a new one,” Mitzi said. “They’ve got to have books somewhere around here. And doctors too, presumably.” She leaned forward and looked left and right. A man on crutches headed toward them, but she didn’t see a stethoscope or white coat so she leaned back into the seat. 

The man dropped into the lone chair in the corner, his back to the walls, face to the room. That drew Mitzi’s attention. It was a move she’d pull and from the scanning of his eyes, she guessed he was fully aware of what he’d done. She watched his eyes slide across her crew. They lingered on Adam and Skye and Mitzi knew he’d just found the two strongest of her crew. 

“Bookshelf in the rec room,” the man said quietly. 

Mitzi quirked her head. “Excuse me?”

“There’s a bookshelf in the rec room,” he repeated, nodding toward Eion who perked up in his chair. “Only one I’ve spotted so far.”

“You heard us?” Ellen asked. 

“Mhm.”

“Do you always eavesdrop?” Mir asked, leaning forward in her seat.

“Yes.”

“We’re new here.” Mitzi took control of the conversation again. Never too early to make friends here, she thought. “I take it you’re not part of the original crew?” The ill-fitting uniform told her that, unless he was the kind of person who took one for the team and offered his to a new arrival. He’d pushed his sleeves up to his elbows and crossed his arms to keep them there. A small red ribbon stuck to the large collar. 

He shook his head. 

“So, you’re here seeking refuge?”

“For now.”

Before she could ask more, a white coat out of nowhere separated them. The doctor’s back was to her.

“You have to take the pain medication I give you, Saul,” the doctor said to the man in a hushed tone as he stood and arranged his crutches. “I can see when you don’t show up and get your refills.”

“Make me drowsy,” he said, starting off down the hall with the doctor. 

“Small price to pay,” the doctor said and, before walking too far, spun around and addressed Mitzi and her crew. “Another doctor will be right out for you. I’ve got something  _ else  _ to deal with.” The doctor looked to Saul and shook their head. 

The two hooked a right down the hall and Mitzi lost sight of them. And, as promised, a second doctor showed up a few minutes later and led Skye into a separate room. Mitzi insisted her crew get looked at first, so one by one, the chairs next to her emptied until it was just her. She’d mentally found Waldo for the tenth time when the man, Saul, reappeared. 

“Thank you,” she said before he could pass. “For helping us find a book. Eion is a little attached to the things.”

“Hmm… don’t mention it.”

“Are you staying in overflow bunking? In outer dome four, I think. The woman who escorted us here mentioned something about us staying there.”

He nodded. 

“Maybe we’ll—”

“Sorry, Saul, Maren couldn’t make it. She made me promise I wouldn’t let you walk alone. And I know you think—oh, hello!” The woman who’d come down the hall shoved a hand at Mitzi. “Gin, it’s nice to meet you. Did I interrupt you?”

“Mitzi,” she introduced, shaking back. She looked between the two. “No, I don’t mean to keep you.”

“Totally fine. You’re a brave one, trying to hold a conversation with him.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at Saul. He shook his head, turned toward the way out, and headed down it. “You know I’m joking, Saul.” Gin started after him. “It was nice meeting you,” she called back to Mitzi. 

“You too.” She didn’t say it loud enough for Gin to hear. 

Another doctor appeared—Mitzi wondered how many doctors they had because a different one showed up to take away each of her crew—and directed her down the hall and into a small room. The walls, grey like every other wall on the station, were decked with posters on how to maintain proper health. 

After confirming Mitzi’s identity and history, the doctor retrieved a few devices and set to work. Mitzi watched her. 

She wrapped a cuff around Mitzi’s arm and let it tighten. Mitzi held still, though the grip the cuff had would leave bruises. Next was the big needle Ellen worried about earlier. When her mind wandered to Ellen, Mitzi started reading the posters, top to bottom, including the small print companies always thought they could sneak past consumers. 

Straining her eyes, deep into the possible side-effects of seeing a doctor once a month, one of which was financial ruin, Mitzi heard the stool the doctor sat on roll away. The doctor removed her gloves and stood. She jotted something down on a pad and opened the door. 

“If you’ll please follow me,” she said. “I have a few more things I’d like to check. No need to worry, just a precaution.”

The hallways they turned down remained grey, a lone picture decorating every ten feet or so. Mitzi expected the next picture to be a cat in a tree saying ‘Hang in there’. When they reached their destination—a long hall of cots separated by impersonal blue curtains—and Mitzi hadn’t seen the cat, she sighed in relief. That cat didn’t know shit about her, she thought. 

“What’re you looking for?” Mitzi asked, sitting down on the directed cot. “Exactly.”

The doctor waved a hand. “Nothing to worry about. Just a small abnormality in one of your scans. I’ll just need to run another test and, if it proves to be something, we’ll get you started on some meds.”

“Medication?”

“Yes. Now, lie back. This won’t take too long.”

The machine the doctor hovered above her abdomen looked like it would cause more damage than it detected. A red laser rested on her stomach and then worked outward in a swinging, circular motion. The doctor tutted at one point and wrote something down. Mitzi waited to ask about her crew.

“Yes,” the doctor said, moving the machine away. “You’ll need to be started on Lidocor. Don’t worry, it’s a temporary drug that will take care of an infection you have in your kidneys.”

Mitzi sat up on the cot. Her sneakers dangled over the edge. “I don’t feel anything wrong though.”

“It’s a bacterial infection,” the doctor said, tapping at her pad. She refused to make eye contact with Mitzi. “A lot of people have gotten it recently. You shouldn’t need to be on the medication too long.”

“How long is not too long?”

“It varies. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get you that prescription and you can get right on out of here.”

A few minutes later, the doctor shook a bottle of pills in front of Mitzi. “You’ll need to take these once a day and have a weekly check up here until the infection subsides. Any questions?” She put the bottle in Mitzi’s slack hand. 

“Quite a few.”

“Thank you, there should be someone waiting over there to finish showing you around. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to come in.” The doctor strode off. 

The man waiting at the end of the hall wore a uniform that fit and wasn’t outdated. Mitzi greeted him as she approached and asked about her crew. 

“They are in bunks by now and have been assigned designations.” He stalked down the hall, taking turns Mitzi didn’t understand until they ended back up at the tube that led the main dome. She checked over her shoulder and still didn’t grasp the layout of the outer dome. 

“What do you mean designations?”

“All residents of station Haven are designated red or blue upon arrival. You’re red.” He shoved a red ribbon at her. “It pins to your collar. Keep it on at all times. If you switch outfits, move the pin to whatever outfit you are wearing.”

She pinned it on. “What’s the difference?”

“Ma’am?”

“Between red and blue?”

“I’m just the messenger, ma’am. They don’t pay me enough to have those answers.” 

Speeding up, she peeked around his shoulder at his collar. She pointed, “I see you’re a blue. Should I be worried?”

He frowned. “I think we just get better food.”

Mitzi laughed and continued to stretch her legs to keep up with him. He said they were headed to bunks then debrief. Mitzi soaked up every word he said about the station and what debriefing would include. As they walked, she planned the speech she’d tell her crew to get them to cooperate. Bunch of toddler, she thought. 


End file.
